Day 4: How would a broken plate feel?

Many lives begin with a cry, or a doctor peering down at them through a plastic visor. My life began as a heavily perfumed woman tapped her deep purple fingernail against my glass case. She also wore a visor, but hers was not transparent, and probably wasn't to prevent disease transmission. Her gray-purple hair stuck out mushroom shaped above the band with tufts of curls sticking behind and infront of her ears. With a thick accent I barely understood, she said to the shop keeper, "Wahn mayans tray-ash is anotha wahn's trea-ja." The shop keeper took a defensive stance and assured the old woman that nothing in his store was anyone's trash.

At first I was offended by the woman's remark, and then I realized that I was thinking in the first place. Its been a few decades since then, but I've come to realize that sentience is a rare thing amongst dinerware. 

The woman peered into the glass again, but this time she was obviously looking at herself. She stared fish-eyed and wiped at the corners of her mouth with her fingers. The gold rings on her fingers were crowded. She tapped the glass again, in my direction and asked if I was part of a set. The shop keeper said yes, and pulled out a box of my peers. 

The woman hoo'd and hawed at the price of our collection. She haggled and said the shop keeper was all sorts of nasty slang terms. The shop keeper kept one hand wrapped around the wrist of the other hand, shaking his head back and forth every time the woman accused him of taking advantage of little old tourists. Finally he agreed to a 10% discount and he threw in a notepad with a vintage woman's face with words about how wine was better than sex.

Off we went. We were in the trunk of a Lincoln Continental for a few days. Then the old lady pulled us out and put us in what she called a "Chai-nah caaaab net." We became dusty and hidden by other plates and cups from other travels. During this time I tried desperately to begin conversations with my peers, but it never worked. 

The old lady died. She fell asleep on the couch with a cigarette lit. Her neighbor called the fire department. Three quarters of the house burned, but we made it out ok. The woman's nieces came to the house and packed us up. 

Sentience is a funny thing when it just falls into your lap. I guess you appreciate it, but I lived my life in fear of when the other shoe would drop. Sometimes I willed to happen... or tried to. And sometimes the thought of no longer existing tore at my soul. We lived in an attic for a few years, and then the niece's daughter got married and she gave us to the newlyweds. These days people get married without two dimes to rub together. So the nincompoops actually ate frozen pizzas on us for the first year of their marriage. We were 90 year old "off the boat" chinese china! Our porcelain was paper thin. We are a prized collection and they ate the nutritional comparative of cardboard. Time went on, and the nincompoops seemed to get it together; at least enough together to have a wee one. Or three. 

One day the oldest kid was arguing about eating broccoli (gasp) and he flung me. I don't think he meant to fling me off of the table. I think he intended to slide me against the worn dining room table for dramatic effect. But, nonetheless I careened off of the table on to the floor and into a million pieces. I held a metaphorical breath. I squeezed my metaphorical eyes and waited for the bright light. I waited and waited and waited. I counted 4 major pieces and aroun 15 shards. I was a house divided. The lady nincompoop cried. It was like this was the first time she thought that maybe using the fine china that was given to her from her dead great aunt daily wasn't appropriate. The boy was instantly ashamed. He began to pick up the pieces, but the lady nincompoop insisted that she would get it. 

So, I was still here. I didn't know why. I didn't know what I was here for, but I was here. The man nincompoop told the lady nincompoop that he'd had an idea for a long time and had been waiting for an opportunity like this. I went into a plastic bag for safe keeping. Over the course of half a decade, and 3 children growing up and being children, I was joined by 4 more comrades. One day the man nincompoop opened the drawer and pulled us out. He took a hammer to some of the larger pieces, and placed us in some wet concrete. He used our pieces and some colored pieces. I didn't get it at first. I didn't get it for a few days. Then, when lady nincompoop came out one day he unveiled whatever monster he'd made of us and she cried. He'd used pieces of us, and pieces of other glass or porcelain to make a mosaic of a sunrise. 

It's nice to know that there's beauty past what form I was. It's nice to see the sky every day from the back yard. And it's nice to know that I'll be passed on again: to another loved one: to another nincompoop.